Epilogophilia: Conventional Warfare
by owlcroft
Summary: Just who does deserve the award in the "lifetime achievement" category?


**Epilogophilia: Conventional Warfare**

_In an odd coincidence, the annual judges convention is booked at the same hotel as a major mob meeting. Hardcastle continuously rehearses his acceptance speech for the lifetime achievement award despite McCormick's reminders that he's only been nominated; he hasn't won yet. The two guys end up in the hotel room originally assigned to a hitman, to which, in the middle of the night, someone delivers a suitcase containing a rifle and a picture of mobsters Don Ferris and Sid Storm. The judge visits Ferris to warn him. Although the mobsters are initially unwilling to believe the judge, they change their minds after Sid is murdered. Ferris' human calculator determines that the hitman must be Louis Orlando, who has a connection with "Bucky" O'Neil, Hardcastle's main rival for the award. The judge finds evidence that O'Neil has been fixing trials for the mob and Ferris learns that Hardcastle is the assassin's next target. Orlando is stopped by Ferris' mobsters and Hardcastle captures O'Neil. The judge does not win the lifetime achievement award he coveted, but he does get to give his speech to the mob in thanks for the Golden Stiletto award._

**Epilogue** -- Owlcroft

"Whoopee cushions? Come on, Mark!" Frank laughed some more, then shook his head weakly. "And who'd you say did it?"

McCormick took a gulp of his beer and pushed the bowl of peanuts closer to Harper. "I was sworn to secrecy, but it was Judge Hostetler." He grinned and leaned forward over the patio table to whisper, "And I could tell ya who switched the sugar for salt on all the breakfast tables if you were to offer me any incentive . . . say, extra cheese on my burgers tonight?" He raised his eyebrows in suggestive inquiry.

Frank took a deep breath, scanned the area for eavesdroppers, then leaned his head toward McCormick. "Extra cheese on two burgers _and _a double portion of Claudia's fries in exchange for the salt shaker fiend and the one that really set Milt off, the guy that put the alcohol in the carafes at the seminar on professional ethics. We gotta deal?"

Mark nodded, leaned back and sighed in bliss. "Now _that _was amazing. After the first half-hour, none of them could even say "professional ethics"; it was more like 'profeshul effics and what're _you _lookin' at?'" He studied Harper's eager face. "Want one guess?"

"Yeah, I bet a guy at the station that Leo Carne would get in on something like that. Any hopes I won my two bucks? Hey, how 'about another beer?" Frank leaned back to the cooler on the grass behind his lawn chair and grabbed a can from the ice.

Mark reached out for it and smiled commiseratingly. "Well, old Carne did sneak into the ladies changing room at the pool disguised as Carmen Miranda, but I think he spent the rest of the week in traction. Thanks." He popped the tab on the beer can and snickered. "It was Judge Simmons who did the salt and sugar gag and the ethyl alcohol trick was pulled off by the Gagmeister himself, Judge Vernon Stark."

"Starkie? You're kidding?" Frank was astonished, yet pleased. "I had him as a second chance ticket for anything disruptive."

"You guys are pretty disgusting, ya know," growled Judge Hardcastle as he seated himself at the plastic picnic table.

"What're _you _doing back out here? I though you were going to help out with the ribs?" Mark playfully tossed the judge a beer can.

"Yeah, I was," said Hardcastle morosely, "but she chased me out. The woman's mean, Frank!"

Harper chuckled and shook his head. "You have to know how to handle her, Milt. A little compliment on the barbecue sauce, say something about how good the kitchen smells, and she'd have you chopping onions before you could turn around."

"No, now I'm insulted," the judge struck a pompous pose. "And she's making way too much food. You guys have a real thing for leftovers, huh?"

"Oh, I forgot to mention," Frank said casually, "Mattie and Charlie are dropping by. She said she'd bring that potato salad she made for poker night; you know, with the capers in it?"

Hardcastle pulled the tab on his own beer and nodded. "Great! I was real sorry Mattie couldn't get to the convention this year."

McCormick grinned at the judge. "Yeah, I wonder why she didn't wanna go. You tell Frank about the soap in the men's room?"

"Aw, come on, McCormick. We had a lotta important discussions and serious decisions made there, ya know. Some real work got done and a helluva lotta people put a helluva lotta time into--"

"Figuring out how to embarrass their fellow jurists. Get this, Frank," Mark waved a dismissive hand at the judge's complaints. "Ol' Stonewall Stonybrook got some of that stuff that looks like soap but turns your hands black, you know?" At Harper's nod, he continued, "And he put it in the men's room in the lobby."

"Stony did that?" asked Frank in pure pleasure.

"Yep. It was great!" Mark snickered. "I'm telling you, Frank, there's nobody as classy or sophisticated as judges."

"Okay, fine," growled the judge. "Next year, I'm leaving you _home_!"

McCormick beamed at him. "Promise?"

Harper cleared his throat meaningfully. "So, it's almost one o'clock." He looked at Mark significantly.

"Ah, yeah." Mark slewed around in his chair to face the judge, placed his beer can on the table and took a deep breath. "You remember your birthday, Judge? This past February?"

"Yeah, I think I can dimly recall something that happened less than a year ago. What, do ya think I'm senile all of a sudden?" Hardcastle grumped.

"Well, do you remember that I made you a promise?" McCormick looked under his eyebrows at the judge and smiled mischievously. "I promised to tell you beforehand if I ever threw you a surprise party, remember?"

The judge blinked, said, "Oh, no. Now, wait just a --"

"_Surprise_!" More than a dozen people came jostling and waving around the corner of the house to pounce on him. There was a great deal of hand-shaking, back-patting and laughing while McCormick and Harper started carrying out coolers of ice, glasses and more bowls of peanuts.

"Milt, you really were surprised, weren't you?" grinned Mike Delaney. "Hey, Stu, hand me one of those." He reached past a still-astonished Hardcastle for a beer.

Stuart Jenkins slapped the judge on the back. "Hey, we gotcha, didn't we? Mark said you wouldn't suspect a thing."

"But, it's not my birthday," blurted Hardcastle. "I mean . . . well, hell, I don't know _what _I mean."

"Okay, listen up!" shouted Mattie Groves. "I've got a special presentation before we can get started on a serious party. Milt, come over here." She beckoned emphatically. "Come on, I haven't got all day!"

Helpful pushes, accompanied by various cheers, whistles and applause, got an uncomfortable Hardcastle to the front of the crowd, next to Mattie. He looked around for McCormick, saw him standing to the side, and glared at him ferociously. Mark lifted his chin and smiled complacently.

"Milt," said Mattie, lifting her voice to be heard over the cheers and clapping, "we know you didn't win the Blind Lady of Justice award last month at the convention in Palm Springs. But we wanted you to know that Lady Justice isn't really blind. She just wears a blindfold and sometimes she peeks out from under it. So," she held out a small, gleaming set of scales, "we want you to accept _our_ award for all your work in the cause of Lady Justice, who does see and appreciate all you do in her service. Well, go on, take it, you dope!"

More applause and some calls of 'speech' accompanied Hardcastle's acceptance of the scales. "Well," he said tentatively, "I don't know what to say."

"Say 'thank you' and 'where's the beer'," muttered McCormick as an aside.

The judge scowled at him, then cleared his throat and said loudly, "Well, _thank you_. This is a real surprise . . . gee, they're engraved and everything. This is really nice of you all and I appreciate it and, um . . . it's quite an honor. But, you know," he looked down at the scales and held them a little tighter, "the honor is not in getting the award--"

"The honor is in the nomination," broke in Mark. "And there's chips and dip in the kitchen and we need somebody to fire up the grill. Volunteers?"

Everybody cheered one more time and the crowd broke into parts, some wrangling over grilling rights, others gathered around Hardcastle to offer more congratulations, a few fetching more food from the kitchen.

After several minutes, the judge managed to approach McCormick, who immediately put up a hand defensively and said, "Now I _did_ tell you ahead of time, didn't I?"

"By about two seconds," growled the older man. "That hardly counts. Dammit, McCormick! I could've had a heart attack!"

Mark looked around for someone to share the blame and spotted Harper, bringing out a tray of condiments. "Hey, Frank, you need some help?"

Harper set down the tray and came over to them, grinning. "Nah. But it looks like _you_ might. Come on, Milt. We wanted to surprise you, but Mark said he'd promised to tell you first."

Hardcastle breathed heavily for a moment. "Hmmm." He looked down at the scales he was still holding close. "Well . . . okay. But don't _ever_ do it _again_, either of ya!"

"Well, it had to be a surprise, or we could never have gotten you over here." Frank nodded toward the scales. "And you deserved that."

"Yeah, well, you know I hate all this stuff, all this attention and awards and all." The judge cradled the scales tenderly.

"Yeah, right," said Mark wryly. "Lady Justice sees right through you and so do we. Oh, Frank! I forgot to tell you about Judge Hansen and the itching powder!"


End file.
